


salroka

by Khiroptera



Series: Kara Brosca [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Relationship, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18698788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiroptera/pseuds/Khiroptera
Summary: salroka: "one at my side." a dwarven term of endearment for friends, most commonly used by the casteless.Brosca's companions mull over their relationship to the Warden. Currently featuring Morrigan, Zevran, Sten and Alistair.





	salroka

**Author's Note:**

> little companion drabbles I wanted to do, just each companion's evolving thoughts on my warden, kara brosca. my playthrough is a typical boy-scout "make friends with everybody" but not all relationships are gonna be the same, y'know?
> 
> these four were easiest to write, so i'm posting them now. maybe eventually i'll post leliana, wynne, shale and oghren.

**Morrigan**

She was the first and only one to talk to Morrigan with even an ounce of politeness. Morrigan saw the men first, two dressed as common bandits or mercenaries and one in shining silver and blue. All three possessed about as much intelligence as the beetles that lazily droned about in summer. Then she noticed the dwarf, the first to introduce herself, and Morrigan returned her own name in kind.

Traveling with Kara was dreadful, at times. The Warden would see some strangers arguing or in need of help and always, _always_ offer her services. It was _pointless_. Oh, their companions would grin and coo and pat each other’s backs over being _kind_ , but there was an archdemon to slay and no time to put on airs and pretend to be the best of people.

Kara and Morrigan argued this point a few times, whether power was more important than kindness. Eventually they came to understand that while Morrigan preferred to do the _smart_ thing, Kara would always try the _right_ thing. How banal!

Their interests lined up when Kara killed Flemeth and brought back the grimoire. It was both the smart and right thing to do, yet Morrigan felt something change a little. Kara would come over to her side of camp, eager to ask more and more questions, and Morrigan would accept her by the fire with less resistance each time. She almost looked forward to the small moments spent together, discussing life in the Wilds and comparing terrible mothers—Kara refused to get into details about her mother unless she was speaking with either Morrigan or the assassin, Zevran. It wasn’t difficult to understand why.

When Kara brought her the mirror, a twinkle in her eye, Morrigan knew the change was permanent. She gazed at her reflection, gemstones glittering by the light of the fire, and looked down to see Kara, grinning wide. This was a gift which offered nothing useful to her—no spells to uncover or runes to embed. This was _sentiment_ , and for once, Morrigan didn’t shy away from it. If only they’d met sooner, the kinds of wild fun they could have had in the forest, chasing and running and laughing…

It was like she’d found a sister, one of those long-lost Witches of the Wilds, and wasn’t that amusing to think that such a magical thing had come in the form of a dwarf?

Their friendship made what had to come next hurt all the more.

* * *

 

**Zevran**

He flirted with her, of course he did, because flirtation and murder were all he knew, and she’d had him tied up on the ground for an interrogation. The first few flirts she brushed off, rolling her eyes or sighing in exasperation. It was the “deadly sex goddess” comment that brought a flush to her cheeks, her eyes opened wide in surprise before sputtering about what he was expecting out of this arrangement. Right then, Zevran knew the poor woman must never have had a half-decent lover in her life.

She never really flirted back during their travels, but every time he asked her if she was uncomfortable, Kara would laugh and brush it off, saying she didn’t mind, that she had a friend like him once and Zevran should just be himself. So, he was, and that meant flirting with the gorgeous Grey Warden.

Kara would talk to him like she did all her companions (chatty, that one), though Zevran noticed that he was one of a select few that she would talk to almost every night. The only person beating him out in that regard was Alistair, and when he saw how she giggled and bit her lip with her fellow Warden, he could only smirk knowingly in the background, sharpening his knives and listening to their insufferably _adorable_ banter while exchanging glances with Leliana.

Still, there were some things Kara told him that she wouldn’t tell Alistair. Her previous life in Orzammar, being used as a tool for Beraht. The ways she was beaten and punished if her job wasn’t done quite right, and how Kara had to learn to either do it right every time or grit her teeth and endure. Too much of it reminded Zevran of his time as a Crow, the “training” sessions and the way all Crows drank and had sex yet trusted not a one of their comrades. Kara had even been intimidated into joining this Carta as a child, not unlike how the Crows had bought and groomed him.

They were like kin, an elf and a dwarf from completely different worlds who shared an eerily similar life. They even used humor as a coping mechanism, that moment of almost-frown before a small upturn to the lips. But where Zevran was all dark chuckles and resignation, _this is my fate and it’s who I am_ , Kara was sarcasm masking the shadows in her eyes. That was one thing about her that he simply couldn’t read.

She finally opened up about it, after a couple drinks. It was really easy, in hindsight—she’d never meant to hide it from him, all he’d had to do was ask. Kara said she hated what she was turned into, but she knew what she was good at. She wanted to use her skills for something better, be a person her sister could be proud of, be someone that people could trust and love the way she did with all the fractured pieces of her heart.

Zevran didn’t know the feeling, at the time, or maybe he really _did_ , but couldn’t accept it. Not until they were in Denerim, and Taliesin had cornered them in an alley, making impossible promises. Kara had rolled her eyes and said she’d have to be dead first.

 _And I’m not going to let that happen_.

He didn’t have a sister to be proud of him, but he had a best friend, and when she smiled at him and pounded their fists, he understood her that much better than he already had. He had one final story to tell her, but he was unafraid. She understood him just as well.

* * *

 

**Sten**

This Grey Warden was confounding. She and her fellow Warden left a lot to be desired as they trudged around their continent, acquiring allies and enemies as they went. _She_ , as if a warrior could be a woman. For a time, after they’d met, he thought her to be _aqun-athlok_ , but everyone referred to her as female and she never corrected them. He’d confronted her about it and she stood her ground.

She stood her ground on a great many things, wandering over to his pitifully small tent and engaging him in pointless debate on any subject under the sun. Pointless… yet he found himself enjoying their talks. She would tilt her head, not unlike their canine companion, but she always reserved judgement. She would ask _what_ and _why_ , and in few words, he would tell her. Ever curious, the small Warden would sit at his side and engage in a meeting of minds. It was a shame her first meeting with a Qunari was with a sten and not a tamassran. Some things are not easily explained.

It soon became clear to him that this Warden was something altogether different, something impossible to define. A dwarf, a woman, capable with blades and, despite what meager education she had, if any, she possessed either a great understanding or a spirited opposition. Further than that, she had honor. Her moral code often led them away from the direct approach and on some winding side path, yet those side paths kept people, both important and inane, alive and well.

In this land of dogs and mud and stubborn unenlightenment, she could not _be_ this person, and yet somehow, she was. None of it made sense. _What mythical creature was this Warden_? At least the rock creature, Shale, was straightforward. Shale was a good comrade-in-arms. The Grey Warden was a puzzle.

Between the golem and the Warden, Sten experienced strange thoughts of… doubt. He knew what would become of those two if the Qun came to them, and it filled him with a sense of dread, to think what they would become. What they could be _reduced_ to. These thoughts were worrisome—the Qun is simply the correct way of things, and questioning it meant he would need to turn himself in for re-education. He boxed those thoughts away and banished them to furthest corners of his mind and continued his travels with the Warden.

She returned his sword to him—she even paid the dwarf in full, no haggling, despite their precarious finances. He gripped Asala in his hands, and the hollowness he’d been drowning in had vanished. He called the Warden _kadan_. She asked what it meant, and this much he told her with no hesitation. _Where the heart lies_.

She said there was a similar term in her language, though perhaps less profound. He asked what it was, and she told him, reflecting his smile with her own.

* * *

 

**Alistair**

He asked her if she was a mage. He asked a _dwarf_ if she was mage, and they laughed it off, but Maker, he’d never forget that introduction.

Those early days, his first thoughts when talking to her tended towards _dwarf_. Alistair hadn’t had many interactions with her race before—there were few dwarven Wardens in general, none in the Chantry, and before that he rarely caught a glimpse of a dwarf or two in Redcliffe. But she was easy to talk to, prone to joking just as he was, and very quickly he grew used to having an equal he literally talked down to.

If they were the last two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, Alistair thanked the Maker every day that it was Kara with him. He could’ve easily been stuck with a ruthless, no-nonsense asshole with no sense of humor (he knew a couple guys like that, before Ostagar). Instead, he had someone who cared for an entire land and people who were not her own. She had a strange, unwavering optimism, almost forced, as though she refused to let herself believe Ferelden to be a lost cause.

It was downright infectious, her tenacity and stubborn, willful kindness. Alistair _needed_ it, drank up her bright, commanding presence as though she were the sun and he a man trapped underground his whole life. The irony of this metaphor was never lost on him. He should tell her sometime, she’d find it funny.

And more than that, she was simply a joy to be around. Wry miles and quirky comments on her lips, hopping up and down at new, strange sights and smells. She asked him why water fell out of the sky once, and honestly Alistair didn’t even really know, either, so they both went to Wynne for an explanation. Interesting how much he could learn if he’d only ever thought to ask _why_.

Sometimes, Alistair caught a shadow pass across her face, dimming her light. Often it happened when she caught a glance at her reflection, in a stream or a window or a rare mirror. She would touch her cheek, that brick-like S-shape branded there, and frown. Alistair hated to see her that way—he was always quick to distract her, say something goofy or silly or self-deprecating just to put that sweet smile back in place.

He found himself thinking of her more and more often. Kara barked laughs at their enemies as her blades sailed through the air. She chuckled at the children dodging around the Denerim Market in their game of tag. She giggled quietly by the campfire in the dead of night, listening to Alistair’s stories of Grey Wardens. She rested her head on her knees, sat down beside him as she often was, slow soft smiles playing on her face as her wide blue-green eyes gazed up at him beneath heavy lids, and Alistair felt something flutter in his chest. Before he even realized it, he imagined placing a hand on her cheek, and slowly pulling her to him—

 _Oh_. Okay _._ That was definitely new. 


End file.
